June 25th, 2008
|12:29 pm - Stranger Than Fiction (Reality = Fiction) [s/a]|
Title: Stranger Than Fiction (Reality = Fiction) [s/a]
Pairing: Ryden (Ryan/Brendon), Ryan/OMC
Summary: Ryan is a famous writer and Brendon has a mysterious passenger
Disclaimer: I do not own anyone except the ones that I made up. I only own the plot.
This is about Ryan Ross. You’ve probably heard of him, world renowned author, right up there with Stephan King and J.K. Rowling and one of the “50 Sexiest Men Alive”. Brilliance and smarts. It’s amazing.
But he’s stuck.
He’s blocked, as any creative person would know the feeling, hell, anyone who’s ever had to do anything related to the mind knows what it’s like to be stuck, whether it be a difficult math problem, an assignment for English class, and in Ryan’s case, his next book.
He’s written plenty for a young man his age, short stories, horrors, fantasies, romances… but this story just has him stuck. He doesn’t know what to write.
“Ryan,” his current boyfriend, Emile, says, putting his hand on Ryan’s shoulder, as if trying to pull him away from his computer, “come up to bed. I wanna treat you real nice.”
He sucks at the side of Ryan’s neck and ear lobe, but Ryan won’t have it. He flicks at him to go away.
“Please, Em, my publishers are really riding my ass for another book, so I need to try to keep at it, okay?”
He looks up at Emile, and he sighs. A sign he’s given up .
“Alright. But it’s getting dark, I don’t want you staring at that computer all night and end up going blind.”
He kisses Ryan’s cheek and turns off a light as he leaves.
It gives Ryan the perfect idea.
He ends up writing the whole night, his boyfriend’s comment fueling the fire to get him started. He can already tell that this one will be a good one, he knows it.
Brendon Urie is his main character’s name. He’s Mormon, in his twenties, he’s got a nice, Mormon fiancée, and he’s in love, but not with his fiancée.
It was an indescribable sort of love. The kind that no one could ever understand unless they, too, have felt it and it was hard. No one could understand.
He loved this mysterious being he could never know, but he wasn’t even sure if he understood he existed.
The characters formed in Ryan’s mind perfectly, like nothing he had ever felt before. He was his work, it was amazing, a total high. He himself had never done it, but the only thing he could compare it to was heroin. He couldn’t stop, he was too involved in it.
But he needed sleep. At six AM, the time Emile always wakes up and gets ready to go to his personal trainer, he sees Ryan, still at the computer, but typing furiously. Emile had been there for the last novel, how Ryan would be so introverted, except when he needed inspiration or “inspiration”. But when Ryan wasn’t unsure of what to write next or needed sleep or something to eat, he barely saw Ryan.
It never took very long for Ryan to finish writing a book though. He usually wrote about ten pages a day.
“Ry,” Emile said, walking into Ryan’s work room, putting his hands gingerly on Ryan’s shoulders, “have you been here all night? Go on, go to bed. I’ll clean up, you just go get some rest, okay sweetie?”
Emile saw Ryan’s face and didn’t flinch. His working face, the face he had when he barely slept because he so needed to be at the computer as much as possible, writing away.
“Yeah, I think you’re right.”
Ryan saved his new story, Untitled for now, then shut down the computer. He got up and gave Emile a slow kiss.
“Have fun working out.”
“Have fun sleeping then writing your cute butt stupid.”
Ryan laughed and went up to bed, slowly padding up the stairs up to their room.
In about half an hour, Emile’s trainer arrived and helped him “work out” his gluteus muscles. He had been “working on” his gluteus with his trainer for a while now, and either Ryan was oblivious or didn’t care.
He really liked Ryan, really. But he was just too difficult, Emile very much a sexual person, Ryan wanting to talk and cuddle or what the fuck ever all the time. Emile needed something, something to keep him sane, and something other than Ryan to keep him entertained in this dull house of doom.
Ryan was sweet and smart and handsome, but not very sexual. He needed more, and that’s what he always told himself, that he wasn’t being satisfied, even if sex with Ryan is very satisfying. Possibly because it’s Ryan fucking Ross, but he really did like Ryan. He wasn’t the bad guy here.
Ryan was very much aware than he and Emile weren’t really right for each other. Emile was very physical, he loved sex and getting in shape. Ryan was a writer, in his head a lot. They got along sometimes. They were sort of on-again-off-again. Especially when Ryan got caught up in his writing.
“Tell me what you mean Brendon, you aren’t making any sense,” she said, trying to get closer to her fiancé, trying to calm him down.
“You won’t understand, I don’t, I don’t know what’s going on, what’s real any more, if anything is real any more,” he said.
He was going insane, is itch he couldn’t scratch, this love he couldn’t hold, but could desperately long for like nothing he had ever experienced with Cara.
He didn’t understand why he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t eat. He’d been at the computer all night and he didn’t want to stop, even though he knew that he needed to. But this character, Brendon, it was amazing. He needed to write more for this character. He needed to feel that love that he was making his character go through. He needed other people to feel it too.
He was writing more and faster than he had ever written for any other character in any other story or book he’d written. He knew what was going to happen to Brendon, he knew what to write for him, he always knew what he was going to do. It was amazing. It was a definite high, one he couldn’t get enough of. Every thought that came into his mind, everything that was going to happen in his book, he knew what to write.
He was running to nowhere, where he hoped that the thing, his mysterious passenger that he so craved for was there.
His mysterious passenger was somewhere out there, and he couldn’t stay here and hope he was there. He had to leave Santaquin, Utah, the place of his birth. He needed to leave, to where he hoped his mysterious passenger was.
He needed to write more, but at this point, his eyes were unfocused, his mind was clouded. He needed to sleep, but he needed to write. He needed to catch up with the character, Brendon, he didn’t know why. But writing this book, it was uncontrollable. In the two days he’d started writing his story, he’d written about fifty pages, almost unheard of, but he’d only gotten about three hours of sleep earlier today, technically yesterday. He craved what he was writing, like Brendon craved his mysterious passenger.
“Brendon, it’s for your own good Brendon,” they said, shuffling him along, dragging him.
They poked him with a needle and his mind began to cloud. Everything was… blurry. And it was… hard to… think. And he was gone.
Ryan hadn’t thought of an ending yet. He’d only thought of what he was writing now, what was going on now. He always had written a plot line, what was going to happen. Even a general idea of what he was going to finish it with. But not this one. He didn’t know what was going to write next, he wasn’t planning anything at all. He was writing for the moment, and it was glorious. This was the best thing that Ryan had ever written, and it was strange, details diluted, formatting strange and unfamiliar to Ryan, but he loved it. He loved everything about this story and he needed to write for it every second of every day.
A week into when he started writing it. He’d written about two-hundred and fifty pages. It was amazing how this story was going.
He couldn’t understand why he needed this character so desperately. Why he needed Brendon so bad, needed to write everything about him. But he did.
“I can’t see, I can’t see!” he was screaming.
His eye burned and his face burned and his body felt like it was on fire. It hurt and he couldn’t understand it.
“It’s for your own good, Brendon, you need help,” she said, taking notes on her pad.
“It hurts, make it stop, I can’t see!”
“It’s for your own good.”
“Ryan, this obsession, its unhealthy!” Emile cried out. “You need to get out of the house, you need to go somewhere, and you need to get away from this book!”
Ryan just glared at him from his desk chair and turned back to the computer defiantly.
“You don’t understand, Emile. You couldn’t possibly comprehend what it’s like to put yourself so fully into something, to need something so bad. I need to write.”
“You need to eat something!” Emile yelled. “You’re turning into skin and bone, I don’t understand what’s happening to you, and you need to come out to me, help me understand. Please.”
“Just get off my fucking back, Em! If you hate seeing me like this, if you hate seeing me work, then don’t. Just go,” he yelled back.
“Maybe I will!”
He heard him leave his work room and storm upstairs, banging and thumping, before coming back down with a suitcase.
“You’re going to come back to me, you know,” Emile said, visible tear streaks down his face. “You’re going to beg forgiveness, but maybe I won’t be so kind this time.”
“Trust me, I won’t come crawling back to you!” he screamed back, then Emile left, all in a huff.
Ryan didn’t care for Emile anymore at this point. He wasn’t the one he needed. He needed Brendon.
Brendon looked into the mirror, what was left of his face. His left eye was gone and the left side of his face had horrible scar tissue. The burns had left the skin that had touched the fire strange looking, hideous. His face was the worst, because that’s what it mostly got, his face. It got his eye.
And there was still no mysterious passenger. The person he needed, that he knew he wanted to badly, and there was no point. No one could love a face like this.
Ryan could. He knew he could. But the question was, how could anyone love a face like his?
He was getting so skinny, cheeks becoming hollowed pits, his eyes looking like they were bulging out of his head. He was already skinny and now he just looked sickly. It was awful.
He hadn’t eaten much since he started writing. Maybe an apple or a strawberry here or there.
He needed the story, he needed Brendon. Not earthy things like food. He needed the destruction that Brendon had faced, he needed to heal him. He needed him.
He was aware that he was fiction, but everyday felt like the lines of fiction and reality crossed. He felt like he wasn’t sure if he was real. Emile couldn’t handle it. He was gone, and now Ryan is finally alone with his work, the work he so desperately needed to write.
When Ryan was finished with the book, had finished Brendon’s story, he was a skeleton of what he once was. He mailed it to publishers, and slowly got back into the habit of eating.
He had finished the book in two weeks. It was four hundred pages long.
The publishers loved it, editors loved it. When they printed it out and sent it off, the people loved it.
The process of getting a book ready to get out to the public, it takes months. So by the time Ryan had to go out on book tour, he was almost back to normal weight.
And so it ended, Brendon still lost, without his mysterious passenger, his life worse than it had began. Alone. Forever.
People wanted more. They didn’t think that the ending ended in a way that pleased them. But that’s all they would get for now.
Ryan did miss writing for Brendon, but that’s all there would be for now.
It was in Salt Lake where the biggest thing that had ever happened in his life… happened.
It was a book signing. The line was about half-way finished, then he heard a series of gasps come from the crowd of people.
“Oh my God…”
“His face, he looks like…”
Ryan looked up to see the next person in like.
He had dark hair and a dark eye, lined with dark lashes. He had an eye patch and burns on the left side of his face.
“Brendon…” Ryan said softly.
He smiled and put down the book in his arms.
“Hello there, mysterious passenger.”
It was amazing. It wasn’t just fiction. Reality did blur. There was Brendon, flesh and all, not just words on a page and a picture in his mind. He was real.
“I, uh, do, um… do you want to get coffee with me?” Ryan found himself asking. “There’s a, uh, Starbucks down the street.”
“I’d like that.”
Current Mood: crappy
Current Music: The Smiths - Well I Wonder